


Not in the Job Description

by BadDecisionsAndGoodWriting



Series: Freddy is a Killjoy, You're a Nuisance, This Can Only Go Well [3]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Announcements, Blackmail, Ghosts, Multi, Not Beta Read, On Hiatus, Reader-Insert, Tense, This Is STUPID, WIP, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 18:42:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15467616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BadDecisionsAndGoodWriting/pseuds/BadDecisionsAndGoodWriting
Summary: If someone had told you that a nearly necessary part of keeping your dime-fetching job was to have sex with a ghostly bear so that way he won’t tell your boss about what you’ve been doing, you would have run away and called an insane asylum for that mad soul. Looking in your mirror, a rather frilly (and uncomfortably cheap) maid dress staring back at you suggested that maybe it was you that needed to check yourself into a looney bin.Warning: This is a work in progress, but it does have a very important note inside that I implore you to read.





	Not in the Job Description

**Author's Note:**

> Unfortunately, as much time and as many words as I put into this, I just cannot force myself to finish this. I really, really did try! But I just cannot feel this one anymore, and I just have no real ideas for it. I feel no passion towards this anymore, despite my very best efforts. I know that I promised this one, but I am not in a good enough place to get myself to finish it. It's not fun anymore. And I've pretty much lost interest in the FNAF fandom for the time being, even though I have taken efforts to rekindle the interest, it's just... not in me anymore. 
> 
> As such, I wanted to at least show you all the beginning of what I was attempting to do, as I didn't want it to go to complete waste. I may return some day on this, but I wouldn't count on it. I am very sorry.
> 
> To continue on the unfortunate circumstances, I have been diagnosed with depression, and I have been having a very difficult time trying to produce content. My motivation and passion for writing has been leaving me, and I've suffered as a result. I am currently working with a Therapist and a Psychiatrist to try and get myself feeling ok again, but it's a slow process. This means that until I start to feel the passion, motivation, and inspiration to write again, I've decided to take a hiatus on writing. I may get bursts of inspiration here and there, but unfortunately I can't promise anything. I've even lost interest in Undertale for God's sake, and I love that game even still. 
> 
> I'll try to keep you guys updated on my tumblr, as ao3 isn't the best site for updates, so I'd appreciate if you checked there now and again. [TheHeraldOfTheDark](https://theheraldofthedark.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Just to be clear, I'm not quitting writing, I'm simply taking a break until my passion comes back.
> 
> I would encourage critique, but this is an unfinished work and I didn't edit it either, so it's somewhat pointless. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Edit: I am feeling much much better after the influence of therapy and pills, and I'm more or less back in action. Thank you all for sticking with me. It meant a whole hell of a lot.

You find yourself pacing around in front of Freddy’s office, rubbing at your face and checking the clock on the wall neurotically. What has it been, 5 minutes, 10 minutes, and hour? You don’t have the state of mind to tell. Your face is sweating uncontrollably, there’s beads of sweat rolling off your brows and chin like you’re in a fucking sauna. You aren’t obviously, and even though the management are cheaper than your two-bit apartment, they do keep the place not boiling. All the uncomfortable heat is coming from you, you might even say the heat is on you. Get it? Cause… police can be called heat and you’re kind of in trouble right now… not with the police but… uh…

You smack your hands to your head and demand you give yourself a break for your shitty nervous comedy.

Out of necessity for something to look at, you look down once more your now sweat-soaked night guard uniform. With how quickly they needed to fill the position, the damn thing hardly fits you—too tight in some places, and not tight enough in others. The designers of the uniform, in all their infinite wisdom, made the usually navy-blue officer’s uniform an almost purple color. You can only assume that it’s to make the guards appear less threatening to the kids, maybe blue dye is too expensive, or maybe the CEO wants people to attack the guards for having poor fashion choices. Either way, the vast amounts of sweat pouring down your body is a fitting addition to the tacky garb.

You wish so dearly you could slap Freddy for scaring off the last guard. Of course, you do feel some shame for being a player in that maddening debacle. However, it’s really not your fault that the bastard watched you and Freddy attempt to relieve some stress. And it’s definitely not your fault that Freddy practically snapped and had the poor bastard by the throat by the time you got to him. On the other hand, it is certainly your fault that you were swooning too hard from his animalistic display to try and calm the guard down. Which may or may not have led to him hunting you down after hours as a sort of sexual role play… In totality, it’s obviously **his** fault that you now have to act as the guard until they can find a new one.

 _Should we also blame him for the fact that Golden Freddy saw us doing the nasty?_ a rather cruel thought pipes up, _and is it his fault that now we’re in danger of losing our job?_

“Shut up,” you hiss to yourself, “you’re not helping.”

“Who’re you talking to, nerd?” a vaguely upset bunny asks, “is it that ‘child’ you were looking for last night?”

You bite the inside of your cheek as you look up at the pissiest rabbit you know, Bonnie. He’s leaning against the hallway wall, having the audacity to look like he owns the place. He’s pretending to play it casual, strumming the shitty guitar the company lets him have like he isn’t having a small hissy fit.

“That’s one way to say hello,” you say, stopping in your pacing for just a moment to glare at the animatronic bunny.

“’Hello’ is for people who didn’t scare the crap out of me with bullshit,” Bonnie says, glaring right back at you.

“Watch your language,” you say, not really caring, “we are in a children’s restaurant.” You shake your hands in a “that’s beside the point” gesture, “I know you’re pissed about the kid thing, but how was I supposed to know that that was just a thing Freddy did?”

“Cause,” Bonnie says mockingly.

You scowl, “Cause I’m just supposed to know that Freddy makes weird giggling noises at night? Oh!” You throw up your hands in mock surrender, “Forgive me for such an obvious oversight!”

Bonnie huffs and tosses his precious guitar over his shoulder by the strap. “As if I’m gonna forgive someone that stupid,” he points to you as he walks too close to you, obviously trying to intimidate you.

Not one to lose ground so easily, you walk up to him and shove your finger into his chest, “You’re being fucking ridiculous, Bonnie,” you spit out his name.

He leans in close to you and hisses, “I thought you said no swearing.”

Suddenly, Bonnie flinches and backs away from you, nearly tripping over his feet in the process. You smirk, letting yourself believe for a few glorious seconds that you actually intimidated a giant ass animatronic. A mechanical “ahem” suggests otherwise. You turn around, your face red from nervousness, the heat, and slight embarrassment, and your body sweating bullets—a stark contrast from the seemingly calm and collected Freddy Fazbear, who just so happens to be standing over you and gesturing into his office. His little glasses shine authoritatively in the light, and his deep blue sweater is much better looking than your own threads. You spare one last glance for Bonnie, making sure to stick your tongue out in a final act of defiance, and shuffle into Freddy’s office.

For once, you have to celebrate, you aren’t there because you’re in trouble. You’re in there because you and Freddy are both in trouble. Fantastic. You’d like to reiterate one more time that it’s not your fault that Golden Freddy, someone you didn’t even knew existed until now, decided to watch you have sex like it was a thing to do. But now you and Freddy have to do some damage control, or Golden Freddy might just… well, you aren’t sure yet. You just know that Freddy seemed really stressed about it the other night. He had already given you a breakdown of what he thought might happen, which is why you’re surprised that his office is empty—you’d expected Golden Freddy to be in there to broker a peace agreement or something.

Not in the mood to argue with Freddy at least, you simply plop down in the chaIR—you almost jump out of your skin as your chair hugs you in place. Instead of a pleasant leather chair, you are sitting on something oddly squishy, musty, and that smells of smoke and booze. In other words, Golden Freddy. For an animatronic, you have to admit, he’s oddly portly—even more so than Freddy. His body is clearly made out of something other than fake fur and metal, as you seem to be very lightly sinking into him. You want to say ectoplasm, but that’s a realm of insanity you aren’t ready to cross.

“What the fuck,” you breath, your voice barely above a whisper.

Similarly, to the first time you realized that the animatronics seemed to be alive, your head is fogging up in a way that suggests you’re having a fever dream. This brain fog is probably the reason you barely even flinch when one of Golden Freddy’s oddly solid, yet somehow incorporeal hands gently start petting your head. It only serves to heighten your foggy state, though you do have to admit it is somewhat calming.

“No need to worry, sweetness,” the impossible bear coos, his voice pouring through your mind like wine and honey, “Old Goldie ain’t gonna hurt you.” He then chuckles and squeezes you closer, “Not unless you want me to, of course.”

You almost instinctively roll your eyes at such a tired and predictable line, sounding like something straight out of a porn or some other shitty movie. “I’m gonna hurt you if you don’t let me the fuck go,” you practically spit at him.

You can feel his grip loosen just the tiniest bit, “Oh, come on, don’t be like that,” but you remind fully within his grasp.

You do your best growl (which isn’t very good buy still you’re trying) and try your best to squirm away, “I swear I’ll do a fucking exorcism on your ass, you bastard.”

He grumbles in annoyance, slight offense, but also something like an apology as he releases you. Since you were struggling so damn hard, you find yourself tumbling to the ground upon being freed. You don’t get up immediately, probably something to do with the fog still assaulting your brain. The fact that you just got tossed (ok it was partly your fault for tumbling to the ground like that but still) by a giant golden ghost bear is making it awfully hard to find the strength to get back up. You suddenly realize that Freddy is laughing at you almost silently—you no longer feel foggy.

Just as you begin to push yourself up, you can feel Goldie’s hands gently help you to your feet. You almost push his hand away, but a) he’s kind of much much stronger than you, and b) a little help now and then can’t hurt. As soon as you get the ground under your feet, you totally respectfully slap Goldie’s hand away like it’s a bug you’d rather not see again. He raises his hands in surrender, something in between amusement and irritation on his otherwise smug face. You plop down in the other leather chair, making certain the two bears with you can hear how done you are with them already.

Freddy gives off little other than a tired sigh, as if he’s seen this kind of thing a million times already. He doesn’t even have the mercy to look surprised, only sterner. He mechanically sits down in his desk chair, glaring at Golden Freddy. Even through the panic of being in the lap of someone you don’t know, you still notice how heavy Freddy seems to be. Despite not needing it, it appears as if Freddy hasn’t gotten sleep in quite some time with how sluggish he seems. The poor man is even slumping forward in his chair, something you’ve never seen the stalwart and professional bear do.

There’s a long, long, _long_ moment of awkward silence as you all just stare at each other. Freddy switches between giving Goldie an almost pleading look, to giving you a look right in between loathing and regret. Goldie alternates between smugly smirking at Freddy to looking at you like a piece of meat. You, on the other hand, attempt to avoid Goldie’s eyes as much as possible and instead look into Freddy’s with a mix of equal loathing, and a bit of legitimate fear.

Freddy, like the drama queen he is, pretends to take in a large breath of air, “I’ve called you here to discuss the recent—”

“Freddy, baby,” Goldie croons, somehow sounding exactly like some kind of stereotypical pimp, “what’s with all the formalities? I think we’re all acquainted at this point.” Crudely, he leans over to you and waggles his eyebrows.

You press yourself as far into the side of your chair as you can, “I’d rather not be.”

Freddy clears his throat, or more accurately makes the sound of someone clearing their throat, sharply. It immediately makes you straighten up in your chair from the sheer amount of times you’ve heard it, but Goldie seems to be largely unmoved.

“As I was saying,” Freddy grumbles, sitting up straighter, “we are here to discuss the recent event that I’m sure both of you have had on your minds since it happened.”

“I haven’t been able to get my mind off it!” Goldie laughs, jabbing your chair in a sign of joking. You are unmoved.

Freddy cringes, “Yes, I wouldn’t expect anything else from you, old friend.” Freddy clears his throat again, “Now, [Y/N], I must inform you that Golden Freddy and I have already begun to discuss a way to… put this all behind us.”

As soon as Freddy spoke the strange bear’s name, he takes one of your hands and kisses it in a parody of an actual gentleman. “Sweet thing, you can call me Fred, it rolls off the tongue nicely.” You violently jerk your hand away, understanding almost immediately that he means something a lot lewder with “rolls off the tongue nicely”. One disgusted look over at Freddy tells you that this is putting him on edge just as much as it’s doing to you.

“You guys,” you use the term “guys” loosely, “were talking about this without even speaking to me first? That’s fucked up.” You glare at Freddy, blaming him most of all.

Freddy massages his brow, trying to keep his fragile sanity, “This is not the time for petty concerns like that, [Y/N], we’ll discuss that later.” He straightens up, “What is important is finding a way to—”

“You already said that,” you correct him, getting more stressed by the minute, “can we please just skip to the part where I don’t get fired?” You’re surprised by the shake in your voice, the legitimate fear making its way out of your mouth. In all honesty, you think you could stand to put this entire job in the trash bin, but if it’s noted anywhere that you got caught having sex with a bear animatronic you’ll never get hired anywhere ever again. Of course, it’s not because you care about the assholes around you, that’s preposterous… you hope.

Before Freddy can make any kind of comment about being interrupted, Goldie (you’re not giving him the pleasure of being called by Fred) slaps your chair in his amusement. “Come on now, sweetheart, pumpkin, angel!” He scoots his chair closer to yours, “I would never get a pretty thing like you fired.”

As you try to scoot away, he crosses his heart in a school yard sign of an oath. In your heart, something screams for you to not believe him, and you can’t help but agree with it. Even so, with how sleazy and purely uncomfortable the man makes you, you can’t help but relax around him just the tiniest bit. You’ve dealt with people like him before, you know the signs. He’s a charmer, and you’re far too stubborn to let him charm you in any shape or form. Besides, just now you’ve noticed that he seems to be sporting the most 80’s porn star stache you’ve ever seen—that practically screams “don’t trust me”.

He seems to notice your distaste, and tactfully reclines back into his chair. It seems with your wordless rejection, he’s switched into something far more business-like. He turns his chair to you, catching your attention immediately. He leans on one hand, tapping the chair with the other in a way that suddenly makes you feel like just another employee again. You glance over to Freddy, and his face is far sterner than you’ve ever seen him with you—face all tensed tight like he’s on the defense.

“Now, I might not fire you,” Goldie begins, something far sleazier making its way into his voice, “but I’m not above letting it slip that you and Freddy-boy over here were making magic after hours.” Out of nowhere, Goldie raps at your chair with a golden encased cane that he definitely didn’t have a few seconds ago. “Unless the both of you can… convince me, that you’re,” he gestures to you, “are worth keeping on board.”

You blink once, and then twice, and then a third time. All that the ridiculous bear just said almost completely went over your head. Then, all at once, it sticks into your mind and you understand what he’s saying perfectly. “You want me to… sleep with you?!” you shout, backing up to the backest back of your chair.

Goldie reclines just the tiniest bit more, seeming pleased with himself, “Nice to see that we hire quick people here,” he half jokes. “Yes, sweet thing, I’d love to get a night with you,” he croons, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

There’s a loud and unbearable squeak over from Freddy’s side of the room as he shoots up from his chair. “That is not what we agreed on,” he says with his eyes wide and warning.

Goldie harrumphs and leans on his cane, “Right you are, Freddy my boy, you are right there.”

“Hold the fuck up,” you speak up, tears in your eyes from the overwhelming amount of information, “you two agreed on something like this without my goddamn permission?” Freddy at least has the kindness to look guilty, while Goldie just cackles cruelly.

“Agreed to is a… not the right word,” Freddy corrects himself, “but that was the idea that we had. You-you haven’t even heard the actual idea yet. And! And we can change it, if you’d like.” It’s almost comforting to see Freddy’s neuroticism coming back, you were beginning to think you were the only one who was freaking out over this.

Goldie lets out a booming laugh, rapping his cane on the floor to regain the attention to himself, “Now come on, you both are acting like I want to take the guard’s soul or something! Do I look like a demon to you?”

You respectfully choose not to answer that. “Still!” you defend, your arms shaking as you try to keep your fearful gaze on the golden bear, “you can’t just… make me sleep with you!”

Flashes of “how dare you?” whip across Goldie’s blank eyes. His mouth twists down in a snarl, an almost foreign expression to the calm and collected one he had only moments prior. He slams his cane into the wooden floor, “And just WHAT kind of man do you think I am?!”

“The kind that threatens to fire me if I don’t sleep with you,” you retort, your usual rebellious nature in full view.

You swear you catch sight of an almost completely blown away look on Freddy’s face as you all but sass the enigmatic bear. His look of momentary admiration sends pride through your system. You look back to the horridly offended face of Goldie. You no longer feel pride.

“I may not be the most… scrupulous man out there,” he says with an air of authority, “but I ain’t no fucking rapist!” He hits the floor with his cane a few more times. “If you want the damn truth, I’ll tell it!” His voice settles down a bit into something… almost trustworthy, yet something still full of offense, “I couldn’t help but notice how uncomfortable that whole deal was for you,” he jabs you with his cane, “and I wanted to show you how a real bear does things.”

You cough as you rub the spot where he poked you, “Oh yeah, and how can you explain the part about getting me fired if I don’t sleep with you? I’m sure that that was an act of helping me too, bastard.”

He scowls, “Well a man has to have some leverage in these types of things, doesn’t he?”

As your face twists into more and more disgust, Freddy pipes up, “There’s no need to bicker amongst ourselves like children.” Freddy is still standing up, his arms behind his back in a militant stance, “We can all come to an agreement that benefits all of us, I’m sure.” He flinches like he expects someone to interrupt him again, yet you and Goldie just look at him, ready for someone to bring some order into this mess, “perhaps this little… showcase Golden Freddy is attempting to pull off will work better if all of us participate? That was our… supposed solution.”

Your mouth drops, no words come out of your stunned brain. Only the wheezing sound of disbelief and a hope to wake up soon. There is no way, let you repeat that, there is NO WAY that the most proper man you know just suggested you, him, and a practical stranger to you are going to have a threesome. There is just no way, no how you’re into that—why is your body heating up in a good way. As the seconds pass, you can feel your face flush as possibilities rush in front of your mind’s eye.

Goldie chuckles, having relaxed back into his chair as he realizes you’re not as against this as you seem. In an act of assurance, he pulls you closer to him by one shoulder, your head too fuzzy to rebel against him. Freddy seems to relax in one vein, yet he seems to stress out in another. The stress inside his poor metal body doing little other than shifting sources.

“How’s about it, sweetness?” Goldie coos with a practiced sleaze, “how’d you like not one but two bears mauling you?”

You swallow, not bothering to get away from his ghostly touch, “I’d rather stay alive, thank you very much.”

“Oh-ho-ho!” the bombastic bear bellows, “baby, I can promise you that you’ll feel more alive than you ever have once Old Fred is done with you.”

Goldie seems to consider something for a moment, a mechanical humming noise coming out of his ghostly chest. He leans over to Freddy and winks in a way that might be meaningful but also might be bullshit. He then stands up, letting you go and in the process nearly knocking you on your ass. He gives you a ghostly wink before sort of poofing away in the blink of an eye.

You sit in that chair for a moment, contemplating if this was all some elaborate hallucination brought on by stress and heat. The distressed and very done look in Freddy’s eye suggests that it did happen, and that he’s contemplating the same thing. You slump back into the fairly uncomfortable leather chair, musing over what the fuck just happened with the intensity of an ancient Greek philosopher. Unlike those grey old bastards, nothing earth shattering crops up in your mind, just the feeling of being swindled into something you’d really rather not do.

“That guy is… inexcusable,” you blurt out after a long silence of mutual disbelieving stares.

“I… I wouldn’t go _that_ far… he’s… well,” Freddy readjusts his bowtie. He lets out a long, repressed sigh, “He’s the worst,” he admits with a whisper.

“There’s—there’s no way you’ll let him tell the others, will you?” you ask with a quiver in your voice, “there’s no way anything will really happen, right?”

Freddy avoids your teary eyes in what you’re pretty sure is shame, “I wouldn’t put it above him.”

A sickening feeling starts to eat into your heart, one of disbelief and of rage that you got coerced into fucking a man you barely know. Your heavy heart drags you down further into the slippery chair, a nearly comedically squeak following your sweaty body. It doesn’t seem like a thing that can happen to you, this coercion, it seems like something you hear of in porn. And you aren’t some two-bit actress that can barely act out how much she wants her hot boss or whatever, you’re just some person who wants to pay their fucking bills on time.

You want to scream at Freddy about not getting you a better deal, about how he could have easily shut the old bear down. You want to cry for the nonsense around you, about being practically forced into something just to keep a job you don’t really like. It wasn’t fair, it isn’t fair. You’re filled with so much hate in that moment, hatred for Freddy, hatred for Goldie, hatred for the boss that let any of this happen in the first place, and of course for yourself, as you certainly have some blame in all this.

As much as Freddy may not be an empath, the bear certainly knows what the buildup to a cry looks like. If he had the means to do so, and if he hadn’t been hardened after all these years, he would be crying too. As much as he loves helping his fellow animatronics, even if he would deny it, this isn’t really helping anyone. The others are his family, as much as they annoy him, but Fred? He’s not family, not anymore. The last thing he wants to do is entertain more of his ridiculous notions of power over them, or even consider letting him touch… ah, you’ve started to really cry now.

Freddy flinches as he comes back to reality, only to see your face twisted in pain and weeping silent tears. Silent is debatable, as even he can hear the faint sniffling and desperate breathing coming out of you. Freddy folds his hands one way, then the other. Silently debating how to handle this. On one hand, he hates that you’ve dragged him back into the hell that is Fred, and on the other, he hates that Fred is torturing you too. Not to mention how much he still hates you. Yet, he reasons, he hates you much less than Fred.

Freddy pulls back his chair as if to stand up, but instead he pats his lap as if trying to get you to sit there. That couldn’t be the case, you reason, because there’s no way in hell you’re doing that. You curl in on yourself, not wanting that damnable bear to see you so weak. You won’t let him… you won’t let him… Too quickly for you to fight, you start sobbing out loud with all the sorrows that have been building up. Images of Freddy being a douche, Bonnie being a dick, Goldie being a sleaze ball, and you failing to come up on top of it.

Your vision becomes too blurry to detect Freddy getting out of his chair and coming over to you, but it isn’t needed for you to feel him pick you up and bring you back to his desk. You sob at him to leave you alone, since this is clearly his doing. You bang on his chest in fury for what you’ve suffered and are going to suffer soon. You do everything shy of worming your way out of his grasp, though you convince yourself it’s just because you don’t want to fall.

He doesn’t stop holding you like a baby, even when he sits back down in his stupid little seat. You, likewise, do not cease shouting obscenities at him, even when your throat seizes up in yet more sobs. Your vision occasionally clears enough for you to see his sorrowful face, all the wrinkles seeming more pronounced than you recall. You barely pay it any mind, as you have a fit to throw. Your chest heaves for all the breath you pull out of the air and screech back out, filling you with pain from the intensity.

You are interrupted however, at Freddy’s giant head rubbing at your face. If you weren’t feeling as if you were losing your mind, you’d say that Freddy was trying to nuzzle you. It takes you several long moments to indeed confirm that that is indeed what’s happening, and serveal more to react in any way. To your horror, you don’t push his head away and shout obscenities at him about it, instead you hug his head to you and sob more.

“This—this can’t be happening,” you gasp out.

“I’m sorry,” Freddy murmurs against your shitty uniform, “I’m so sorry.”

“How,” you hiccup for air, “how could you let this happen? Aren’t you supposed to be the fucking boss of these bastards?"

Freddy sighs somberly, “You know as well as I do that they don’t really listen to me. Besides, Fred—Goldie has never really listened to me.”

“This is all your fault!” you manage to accuse, “if you hadn’t—if you hadn’t…” You break down in sobs once more, running out of energy to yell at him any more.

Freddy harrumphs proudly, “I don’t normally point the finger at anyone, but you were the one who wanted to do it after hours.”

“But-but you agreed!” you defend, your voice still cracking from the stress, “don’t act like you didn’t do anything.”

“Now,” Freddy says, going into even more of a chastising tone, “hold on a moment, that isn’t what I mean. Of course I know it wasn’t just your fault, but I would appreciate it if you didn’t act like it was all my fault.”

“Ugh!” you claw at your own hair in desperation, “you and your fucking business bullshit! That golden bastard was like that too! What’s with you bears and your fucking business?! You’re children’s entertainers, fucking act like it!”

“I’ll have you know that responsibility is a very good lesson for young children to learn,” his voice suddenly switches from an old teacher to a spiteful growling tone, “and one that you haven’t seemed to learn either.”

Freddy gasps as you punch him squarely in the jaw. It doesn’t exactly hurt him, as he’s mostly fluff, but dammit if it doesn’t set him off like nothing else. His gears and values pump in rage as he grabs the offending hand, preventing it from doing that again—and you’ve just punched him again with the other hand. He grabs both hands and squeezes them together in a faux cuff, moving them down so he can glare into your rebellious eyes. To his absolute disbelief, a wad of spit shoots out from your furious face, landing on him in an obvious sign of hatred.

You scowl at him as rage leaks into his mechanical eyes, too far into your temper tantrum to care about all the shitty nuances of the situation. You don’t care that he’s in the same boat with you, and you don’t care that you are partially to blame. All you care about is the fact that this pompous overgrown fur ball thinks he can scold you at a time like this. Your stomach drops in fear as his eyes glow white, something you’ve seen him do only in the worst scenarios (and when he came but who cares about that).

It flickers in his eyes a few times before he seems to hitch on an idea. You watch in curiosity as it goes from primal rage, to contemplation, to a slow realization, and then without any warning into more joy than you’ve seen on a child’s face in this shitty place. The world spins as Freddy picks you up once more and literally fucking twirls about with you. Deep and merry laughter spills out from his chest, a sound you’ve only heard him emit during his little performances. You’re left to be stunned as he dances about the room in whatever kind of good emotion one can feel at a time like this. He finally sits back down with the stupidest grin on his face that you’ve ever seen.

“What the fuck was that,” you declare more than ask, your voice still cracking but back to its usual doneness.

“You’ve given me the most splendid idea!” Freddy declares, far happier than you’ve ever seen him.

“I… did?”

“Yes!” he pushes his face into yours in something that resembles a kiss only neither of you bother to actually do it. “Your little tantrum gave me the greatest idea!”

“Was the idea for you to piss off?” Even though your usual rude comments, his face doesn’t shift.

“Ha! No, no. But it is for Fred to piss off, as you say!”

If they could, your ears would have perked up, “I’m listening.”

“It’s so simple I’m nearly ashamed you didn’t think of it yet!” that earns him another soft punch. “All we have to do is make Fred angry enough that he doesn’t want to deal with us anymore! Or at the very least inconvenienced enough to leave. That man never really could handle things going poorly, as far as I can recall.”

You begin to nod; a similar though far less confident grin begins to pull on your face. “Damn, for once, you had a decent idea!” You cackle under your breath as his vain face grows slightly unhappy at your comment. “But how are we gonna get him to not have sex with me?”

Freddy sucks in a breath, looking vaguely sorry, “Not to have sex with both of us, and unfortunately we might still have to do that.”

You once again scowl, “Then what the hell were you talking about?”

“What I’m saying is, perhaps we can get him to quit at his little game before he can do all that he wants, and then perhaps we can simply relieve each other if the need arises.” He looks at you in slight pity but quite a bit of hidden irritation at you poking a hole in his plan.

You chew on the inside of your cheek as you consider his proposition. It certainly won’t completely excuse you from this hell, but at least it’ll get him off your back. “So how do we do it? And how do we do it without him deciding that he’s gonna spill anyways?”

Freddy continues his decent to looking more and more grave, “Well, if we target him, he might just decide to tell. However, if we honor his ideas, yet we attack each other, I think he may grow tired of it and leave. As long as we honor his end of the bargin, I believe he may decide to honor his agreement and leave us alone: believe it or not, the man does stick to his deals, sometimes.”

“He sounds like the devil,” you mutter out of distain.

“I wouldn’t put him above it,” Freddy says gravely.

“I hate that guy,” you sniffle.

At your sickened face, Freddy once again pulls you close for a hug, “If it were up to me, I would have punished that bastard for talking to me that way. But… if it’s any consolation, we’re in this together, both of us have to deal with that… pervert.”

You sniffle, but start chuckling, “I can’t wait to see him make you his bitch.”

Freddy grunts and swats you on the head, only causing you to chuckle more. There’s a few glorious moments of silence and calm like that, of you cradled in his grasp and him seeming somewhat peaceful. You still wish that this wasn’t something you’d ever have to do, but at least you get to being someone else down with you. The optimist in you remarks that it is something someone really only experiences once in a life time, but the pessimist spits back that it doesn’t want to. You decide to blame the internal argument on Freddy, simply because you can.

“Now, uh,” Freddy stutters, “how would you feel if I requested you be in a… maid outfit?”

You pull away from his embarrassingly comforting grip. Your face flushes in fury at the mere suggestion, “Do you honestly think I would ever—”

 

“—Do that,” you mutter to yourself, readjusting the cheap as maid suit to cover up as much as possible.

This is stupid, you once again reiterate to yourself, this is absolutely the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. Why in your right mind did you agree to wear a fucking maid suit that you only thought existed in the existentially terrifying plane of existence known as porn. A quick trip to a local sex shop proved your worst nightmares of the depths of depravity humans could go to true. It was cheap, uncomfortable, and honest to god you doubt you have the body to honestly make the damn thing work. If you could have, you would have locked the cursed object in a box and fed it to a wormhole, so it could bother someone else.

And of course, of fucking course, the person to blame is none other than Freddy Fazbear himself. It almost feels like a wet fever dream that a fucking children’s mascot would ask you to wear a goddamned maid outfit during a threesome for no other purpose than to… Ugh, that was the worst part: this damn thing doesn’t even really help your plan. It’s not like the sleazy bastard you’re trying to get rid of is gonna be perturbed by a fucking skimpy maid outfit. You know for a fucking fact he’s doing it for his own damn pleasure, a shitty punishment or something. Fucking bastard.

Maybe it’s the reason that you need therapy, but you don’t even bother to try and distinguish your irritation; you let it rise and rise in the vain hopes that the Golden Asshole will get the brunt of it when he finally comes. And hopefully not in a sexy way. The only thing that seems to bring you joy at this hellish moment is imagining the pain on Goldie’s face when his carefully laid plans of lewdness are dashed in your furious winds. You’ve been thinking all day about how you could ruin the damned bastard, killing off the long hours until they stop by to basically age you even more.

Ah yes, the worst part: for the sake of privacy you’ve all decided to stage this little shit show at your place. You cannot even begin to imagine how a giant animatronic pair of bears is able to sneak into an apartment complex without alerting some kind of supernatural watch force. You’re secretly hoping they do get caught by this organization, whoever they may be, and are graciously taken for deconstruction and study. That’d save you a few sleepless nights and stress breakdowns at the very least.

fist size whole nearly appears in your mirror from an oddly soft series of knocks on your door. You whip around to glance at your handy, dollar store clock on your dresser—it’s 10 pm to the minute, just when the bears said they’d be coming. You’re almost amazed at their timeliness, but you’re mostly furious that they even dared to show up. There’s a small voice in your head that insists that it doesn’t necessarily have to be the bears, it could be anyone. But a muffled argument between a frustrated deep voice and a chuckling deeper voice pretty much confirms your fears.

You pat down your skirt in the vague hope that maybe it’ll somehow get less embarrassing as you make your way to the door. You take a quick peak out your peephole, only to see Freddy standing there looking more nervous than you’ve ever seen him. You’re assuming it’s because he’s in public and he’s a giant animatronic bear but… there’s probably more than one reason. Wait. Wait a moment. You peer more intensely into the hallway, glaring all around in curiosity. Where’s Golden Freddy?

A low, eerie little chuckle from behind you answers your question that you didn’t even want the answer to. You turn around, much slower and much less excited to see what you already know you’re going to damn well see. And, of course, of course it’s Golden Freddy somehow relaxing on your couch before you even opened the door. You’re starting to think that he really is supernatural, but then again how else would you explain... literally everything about him.

“Hello, Fred,” you say as unwelcomingly as you possibly can, “how the fuck did you get in here.”

“Never you mind,” Goldie murmurs as sensually as a ghostly bear can.

You raise a brow at him, generally unimpressed and very, very ready to get him out of your home as quickly as possible. The way he’s reclined on your couch, though he’s still behind you and obscured by the back of the furniture, is far too comfortable for your tastes. He’s leering at you too, at least you think he is, his eye socket appears to be black. Though there might be a tiny little dot in the middle, you could truly not care less—the bastard is still definitely leering at you.

“Freddy’s still outside,” he says far more normally though with a noticeable hint of neuroticism, “you should let the fella inside before someone sees him.”

You spasm towards the door to open it as ungracefully and as embarrassingly as you can. You do manage to remember how you’re dressed, and as the door swings open, you’re in the corner praying that no one can see you. There’s a refined grunt from Freddy and a quick heavy shuffling of his comically big animatronic feet as he comes inside. You shriek as the door is torn from your grasp and quickly shut. You watch stunned, you’d call it in appreciation if you didn’t hate the man, as Freddy quickly locks the door.

You stumble back from the entrance in complete disbelief, “How the fuck did you two get here?”

“Ohoho, you’re just now realizing it?” Goldie sasses, his chin resting on his hand so you know he’s an asshole, “are you that ready to be mauled?”

“It’s a fair point,” Freddy says quickly, a hell of a lot of disapproval in his narrowed face, “and you should be far more respectful in our… friend’s home.” You scoff at the hesitance in Freddy’s tone, but you fail to say anything. Someone less prideful would say that it’s because you’re glad he’s standing up for you, but that person would meet your fist very quickly.

Goldie grumbles and turns away from you two, “I know how to drive a car.” He then snickers, “It’s been so long that I could get behind the wheel, that I nearly got us on a watch list.”

“Since when could animatronics own cars?!” You demand, head spinning from how unreal this is.

“I stole it from our dear boss,” Goldie coos maliciously, “let’s see that son of a bitch try and stop me now, huh?” He settles into his—your seat and chuckles, “I’m sure the others will give him a nice night.”

Freddy rubs his nose and turns to you, “The boss, as we seem to be calling him, volunteered to take over your position for the night, so he was going to be staying there for a while in any case.”

You sigh loudly and forcefully, trying to show your two suitors just how done with them you are, “Ok, then try and explain how you made it through the whole building without anyone noticing you? This isn’t the biggest building, but there’s no way you managed to not disturb a single person.”

Freddy balls up his fists and looks to Goldie, almost… childlike. Something reminiscent of how a young adult looks at their parent when asked some awkward question at the doctor’s. An odd yet unmistakable look of a request of assurance that you’d never seen on the otherwise professional bear. You’ve also never seen, although you’ve known him for no time at all, the almost fatherly, yet similarly childlike (maybe ignorant?) look on Goldie.

“Well, missy **(replace later)** ,” Goldie says, sounding much more Freddy-like in tone, “in all my years I haven’t cracked the code, but I do know that humans seem to have trouble seeing us move.” He straightens his hat, though you’re fairly certain it can’t move, “it just seems like folks eyes… pass over us as we move about at night. It’s been happening for as long as I can remember.” You don’t fail to notice the odd way Goldie’s voice fluctuates at “remember”.

You plop down in the nearest chair, your feathers ruffled and your mind both blown and in complete denial. The pleasant and homey fabric does fuck all to calm your nerves as you gaze fearfully at the two creatures in your home. You knew damn well, if not buried deep in your mind, that there was something not of this earth about them. It was truly obvious. But there’s a fine and rather intimidating difference between a thought in the back of your mind that you know is true and the truth laid out before you.

Their eyes, their unnatural and suddenly far more horrifying eyes glance from each other to you in a sort of regretful dance that you refuse to acknowledge. You might even go as far as to say there’s shame in their gazes, though the emotion lends itself better to one of them much better. You know damn well that there’s far more to the story than then not being seen properly, and far more than you’d even wager to go at the moment. You don’t care. You refuse to care. You already didn’t like them, and this is just the disturbing and deeply shaking cherry on top. You grip into the chair, hard, trying desperately to get a grip.

You jolt to the side as a soft, yet firm mechanical paw gently pats your shoulder. You have to refrain from gasping at the shock to your system all this is having, but you don’t want to look like a pansy ass bitch in front of the people you really despise. That is exactly why you silently lean into Freddy’s (begrudgingly) caring touch. Obviously. It’s also why you look to him with fear and a blocked epiphany about all the little things that suddenly make more sense to you in your eyes. You might even go as far to say that there’s something similar in his eyes, though you don’t have the brain power to address it.

Goldie’s damnable and oh so condescending laugh echoes around your shitty apartment, “Come on now, there’s no need for all this deep thinking at a time like this!” He tries to shift his voice to something far more seductive: it really doesn’t work, “I thought this was a time to fuck each other’s brains out.”

“Can you **please** try and be a little more conscious of our host’s feelings?” Freddy scolds, “you’ve clearly upset them!”

 _Ha ha, suck it you golden bastard_ , you think to yourself, _feel my pain you pompous cock_. You nod as you try to pretend that hearing him talk like that to someone else isn’t the greatest feeling in the world.

The golden fuck head rolls his eyes, you think, and turns to the television, “I’ll show you upset, boy,” he mutters like a true spoiled brat.

You and Freddy exchange pained glances, yet it suddenly occurs to you that this is exactly what you wanted. It was your very goal to annoy the crap out of Goldie, in any way you could. It looks like you both might even succeed, as unlikely as it seemed. You just gotta keep pushing his buttons like this, and your plan might even work! Or he might decide to tattle on you either way! Which wouldn’t be good! You have to stay positive though! But you’re a pessimist! And that’s a tall order!

“Sit down,” Goldie says with an air of authority, “we’re going to scrub that unfortunate little attitude from you if my name isn’t… ah just sit down.”

You’re about to scold him for bossing you around in your own home… only to notice that he’s standing up and putting something in your VHS. You can’t tell what it is, but the sound of plastic sliding on plastic is unmistakable. You’re then about to yell at him for fucking with your stuff before the sleaziest music you’ve ever heard starts to come through the speakers. Seconds later, a rather… promiscuous menu appears on your screen.

“Is… is that porn?” you say, dumbfounded, “where the hell did you get porn? And why are you playing it—what the fuck is going on right now!” You slam your fists into the chair, so done with this bullshit already.

“I thought this lovely little tape could help us get in the mood,” Goldie hums, turning back to you and Freddy in an attempt to be sexy, “after all, there’s no point to this if we aren’t… primed for it.”

 _Like you care about “we”_ , you think spitefully to yourself.

You look at Freddy as if to get permission to join Goldie on the couch, as that’s the only way you figure this shitty evening can progress. Then you kick yourself for even considering Freddy as someone who can tell you what to do (even though he’s your pseudo boss but shhh don’t tell anybody). You then choose to rise up, stomp over to the couch, and plop yourself down to the farthest end of the couch that you can. Freddy huffs and squeaks over (on account of his noisy joints) to sit at the couch with the both of you.

You realize too late that this arrangement means that you’re sitting directly next to Goldie, which means he’s probably going to grope you because he just seems like that kind of guy. Don’t get yourself wrong, you know that that’s pretty much what you came here to do, but you aren’t about to do it more than what is necessary. As you sit on your fairly comfortable couch, in your shitty very uncomfortable maid outfit, about to watch some porn with two goddamn animatronic bears, you can’t help but think that maybe your life is going in a direction you weren’t expecting.

The bear of the hour fumbles with the remote at first, but it’s not long until he manages to get the movie rolling. You prepare yourself to cringe and gag at the poor acting, and to fight the soon to be growing heat in your loins. You’re also ready for this shitty event to start going down before the movie’s even done. What you’re not prepared for is for Goldie to look over to you with what appears to be genuine understanding in his eyes. You wouldn’t expect to be able to see such a thing, as the man has no discernable eyes. But… if eyes are truly the window to the soul, you could almost swear you could see sympathy through the inky blackness.

“Isn’t this great?!” Golden Freddy shouts out of butt-fuck nowhere, hugging you and Freddy to him by your necks. Before you or him can answer, Goldie speaks up again, “I just think it’s great to be with friends again. Just like old times.”

You refrain from asking if these “old times” include one person in a maid outfit forced to be there under threat of having their career life destroyed, and the other one clearly wanting to be left alone, but you wouldn’t put it past him. Somehow the man managed to dash the blossoming feeling that maybe he wasn’t as bad as you thought he was in an instant. You try to struggle out of his far too peppy embrace, but he isn’t fucking budging. The sensation that you’re speaking to an old man that’s reliving his glory days isn’t lost on you.

Even with all your fidgeting and hatred, you have to admit that something… pleasant makes its way over you. Something calm, something welcoming, and most of all something fun. You’re still pissed as hell, but you’re starting to relax a little into this whole ordeal. You do punch Goldie until he lets you go, however; don’t expect a fucking miracle or anything. Goldie grunts and releases your head from his rude embrace, rubbing his torso where you let out your onslaught. You look at him with a hint of suspicion, wondering if this is just the effect he has on people, or if it’s some weird supernatural bullshit.

You briefly look over Goldie (who’s decided to cope with your bad attitude by getting lost in the porno) to see how Freddy is faring. The fact that occasionally you swear you can see through the golden menace makes it easier (but so much harder on your brain). He’s staring at the TV, and your body slumps down at the thought that he’s actually getting into this. But… that’s really not the Freddy you know and hate, he’s far too professional to actually get into this garbage. The way his hand is stroking his chin, you’d almost say that he’s plotting something.

Not sure how to deal with Freddy, you turn your attention to the television as well. As to be expected, the porno Goldie chose is quite terrible: low budget, sleazy, and most of all not hot… not hot at… all… huh. The heat that blossoms in you as you take in the screen suggests otherwise. The acting is actually kind of… tolerable, if the way that the actress is speaking naturally is any indication. The two guys who you assume are the other leads seem to be very… dominant, something you ashamedly have to admit is damn attractive to you. And… oh my… they seem to be bossing her around… quite… a… bit. You shift in such a way that your nether regions are no longer sticking to your legs.

Your mind sticks to the screen as you watch the domineering men begin to manhandle the woman, so much so that you hardly notice a hand slowly make its way to your shoulder. You do take notice, however, when that same hand pulls you into Goldie’s oddly plush belly. You’re about to yell at him when you notice him sneering at you in a way you’ve only ever seen in porn. When you curl your hands into fists you realize that you’re almost hugging him, your fingers finding fur instead of your own flesh. You quickly retract your traitorous arms and pout at him aggressively.

“Now what’s this?” Goldie coos with his annoying little sneer getting more pronounced, “Freddy, don’t tell me you let this little kitty treat you like this, do you?”

Freddy raises a tired brow, “And what exactly are you implying?”

“Yeah!” you grimace at Goldie (and not at your growing arousal), “what’s that supposed to mean?! I’m my own person, dammit!”

Goldie pretends to consider your words, “You certainly are your own person,” he admits. Before you can affirm his words, he yanks you by the waist to sit in his lap, “but tonight, you’re MY bitch!” he laughs like some kind of pimp.

You flush in fury and go to slap the bear right across the face. He catches your hand without even flinching, and a horrific, almost predatory look on his face. At least, that’s what you’re assuming his narrowed eyes, menacing sneer, and wrinkled face mean. He somehow has the strength (and physical matter) to grip your hand so tightly it feels like you might need to get a replacement. Your usual aura of fairly confident rebellion hides away for the creeping fear you’re feeling now.

“Damn, I’ve worked with some annoying little bugs in the past, but none of them have been this bad!” he muses. You squeak in surprise as a large hand creeps around to your rear and kneads it, “this is gonna be one long night!”

A quick glance at Freddy shows he’s flabbergasted, his glasses knocked astray to rub in the fact he really didn’t expect that. It’s pretty obvious he was hoping that would work, that you’d slap him and them Goldie would fuck off. You had hoped the exact same thing, but at least he didn’t have to face the consequences directly. That son of a bitch. It’s about then that you two make eye contact, and a hint of vengeance crosses Freddy’s otherwise soft face. A look of “don’t you fucking dare you waste of a fur ball I will vomit my rage over you for millennia” makes its way across your face. You watch with pure fury as he just sits back and watches this shit show unfold.

A sharp clap of whatever Goldie is made of against fabric covered ass yanks your attention back to him. Him, and his shitty porn-star sneer that’s not attractive at all and that you hope he doesn’t keep giving you. You realize with horror that you moaned very, very loudly when he did that, and that it actually felt pretty damn good. To cover up your horror, you fake a wince, which isn’t helped by the fact that you’re very lightly rutting into him. You know, like a whore.

“That slap sucked,” you inform him, glaring at him. When he laughs, you realize that you basically just admitted that it can be good, and therefore that you like getting slapped. Fuck.

“Well, I can do it again, sugar,” he chuckles ever-so meanly.

He seems to take your silence for a “yes”, as his hand swings back around and gives you another firm spank. You totally don’t cry out at that, and you totally don’t grip his shoulders for support. In fact, you don’t even mutter that he should do it again. Which is why it’s a complete and utter shocker that he brings his hand down two times in a row. You dig your teeth into your lip as he starts to knead your hindquarters dutifully.

“Now, excuse my… prying eyes,” Goldie begins, his voice just dripping with sleaze, “but what’s with this cute little uniform you’ve got going on, hm?”

“That was my request,” Freddy butts in, “our dear friend wore that because I asked for it.” If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost say that Freddy sounded… protective? Is he really that desperate to claim the idea as his own? What a creep.

Goldie’s air of “porn star prick” stutters for a moment as his face falls into a tired pout. You realize with a hint of a smile that Freddy might be onto something. Your face then immediately falls as you realize you don’t know what the fuck that something is. Which is almost concerning, as usually you are the best at annoying people. You watch as Goldie leans over to Freddy with his teeth all clenched.

“Pardon me, star-of-the-show,” Goldie remarks with a level of animosity that hardly suits him, “but I don’t believe I asked.”

“Well excuse me, old timer,” Freddy bites back, his arms crossed and face stern, “but I believe you _did_ inquire as to why they were wearing their fetching outfit.”

A golden hand reaches out to smack Freddy right in the back of his head. You suppress a wince as his old man glasses fly off his face and land on the floor with a metallic scrape. You grit your teeth as a cruel and fiery heat begins to build up in your chest—and not the good kind either. All you want to know is who the hell this douche bag thinks he is: a good person definitely is not an answer. A good bear. Ghost. Whatever.

His head snaps to you as you wiggle out of his grasp (which is easier with only one hand in the way but it’s still incredibly awkward). The cruel and far too stern expression on his face hasn’t lifted by the time you manage to catch his attention, leaving a sick feeling in your gut. With a swing of your leg, you hop off his lap and gracefully nearly twist your leg as you try to sit back down on your side of the couch. You land with an awkward thump and a disheveled outfit, but you still made it so it counts.

“Hey!” Goldie says as you fix your dollar store suit, “Wait wait, where you going, sweet thing? I was just getting started!”

“Just getting started being a horrible guest!” you spit back, being all cute and pretending you care about etiquette at this point, “what makes you think you can treat people like that?!” Before he can answer, you’re up in his face, pointing an accusatory finger, “Nothing! That’s what!”

He stares at you for a second, and you swear that you see a hint of actual malice, “So, the bitch thinks they can boss old Fred around?” He tries to sneak his hand around your back once more, “I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet.”

A refined cough interrupts your muscles from contracting in a way that would have put a dent in Goldie’s face. You both turn to Freddy, who seems to have a disturbingly blank expression. You get a sudden flash back to how they usually look when being repaired—that awful, empty, dead look. Goldie looks a bit like a kid who’s been caught bullying their classmates by putting gum in their hair. The scared eyes along with the pouty frown is a good look on him, you’d like to see it more often.

Freddy looks up to you, his face still blank for a few unsettling moments, cementing in your brain that these creatures aren’t of this plane of existence.

A/N: What would have happened here is that Freddy would have asked the reader to pick up his glasses for him, and probably some other tasks. Then they would turn into sexual tasks, and then sex would happen I suppose.


End file.
